What I really need is to drink a glass of water slowly                                                      because there is enough—there is enough fast in this world.                                                  And every real thing is found inside the soft arms of a moment.                                               And because, in the midst of so much trauma and terror, it is vital                                          to bow to such holy, ordinary things.

I want to fill this space
with words that will erase the distance
between your certainty and mine

make room under the big, empty sky
for grace to sit, move closer
until skin touches skin, eyes see eyes.

Maybe we can take a good, deep
breath, clear body and mind of all
that’s come before. Promise
to pay attention, to stay—
especially when it hurts.

Maybe this time we will see
that it has nothing
to do with who we’ve been
or who we think we are

and everything
to do with being fiercely here—
like breath is for life. Yes,
like that.

Maybe—perhaps, we can begin
and begin again with—I don’t know. See
that it takes just one step toward
to erase the distance
that was only ever a thought.

Dinner is on the stove, will you join me?